The Sewing Room Girl

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘It’s only until Mr Winterton recovers your mother’s money. Someone’s at the front door. I’ll go.’ Cecily got up, but as she reached their door, it opened and she gasped, backing into the room, white-faced with distress.

  Adeline marched in. She didn’t touch Cecily, but nonetheless gave the impression of bowling her aside. ‘Living here with this trollop is hardly conducive to leading a respectable life. Mr Seton and Mr Winterton were so keen to have the matter settled, they forgot about the harlot you live with, but I haven’t forgotten. Mr Winterton’s precious agreement is null and void before it even starts. Pack your things.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I think you shall.’ Adeline spoke quietly. ‘You have no choice. This trollop—’

  ‘Don’t call her that!’ Juliet flared as Cecily bundled her knuckles in front of her mouth.

  ‘Come willingly or unwillingly. It’s all the same to me. I have a man outside who’ll … escort you, if necessary.’

  So, Juliet found herself once more in the back parlour of the villa in West Didsbury. One of those familiar boxes sat unopened on the table and that was how it would jolly well stay. She glanced at the windows.

  Adeline’s voice was dangerously quiet. ‘Set one foot outside this room and I’ll inform Mr Winterton you’ve run away – again.’ She went to the door and held it open invitingly. ‘On second thoughts, be my guest. Or would you prefer the window, like last time?’

  The girl showed pluck, Adeline had to concede that. It was irritating, of course, though preferable to having another spineless ninny to deal with. Adeline’s features settled into the well-worn sneer that thoughts of Clara invariably occasioned. Agnes had had more about her than Clara, but in the end she had turned out to be every bit as much of a fool.

  Now here was Agnes’s brat being obstinate – again. It was a different type of obstinacy, though. Not sulky like Clara’s, nor like Agnes’s. The girl possessed a quiet determination. Not that resolve would do her any good now that she was up against Adeline Tewson. Adeline had crushed far greater personages than this chit. She couldn’t win, and they both knew it. She couldn’t leave, because that would be running away. Neither could she ignore the samples indefinitely, because that would make her appear sulky and immature, in need of a guiding hand.

  Coming downstairs the next morning, Adeline glanced into the back parlour and nodded crisply upon seeing the box untouched. She went to breakfast with the good appetite that she believed was part and parcel of her relentless drive and inevitable success, helping herself to fresh muffins, which she loaded with fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon.

  She didn’t look up as the door opened. She sensed the chit’s hesitation. Was she wondering whether to refuse breakfast? She would go down in Adeline’s estimation if she did. No, she went to the sideboard to investigate the covered dishes.

  Adeline left her to it. She went into her morning room. Presently a knock heralded the girl’s arrival.

  ‘If you want me to return to the back parlour, I’ll go, but I won’t do any work for you.’

  ‘You ate at my table readily enough.’

  Adeline settled down to read through some papers she had brought home from her office. She wouldn’t go to the factory today, but tomorrow she would resume her normal practices as if her life had never suffered any interruption, which would give that girl something to mull over while she sat ignoring the box.

  The front door bell jangled, then Marjorie appeared.

  ‘There’s a man here, asking for Miss Juliet.’

  That young booby of Winterton’s, no doubt. How dared he come here?

  ‘He said he knew Miss Juliet when she lived with her mother,’ Marjorie added.

  ‘Indeed?’ Every sense sharpened. ‘Did you inform her he’s here?’

  ‘No, madam. I told him to wait outside while I spoke to you. Shall I send him away, madam?’

  ‘Show him in.’

  Marjorie returned moments later. ‘This way, if you please. Mr Price, madam.’

  ‘Mr … Price.’ Hesitating before his name was as good a way as any of putting him in his place. She did not offer him a seat.

  She took him in at a glance. Better than Agnes’s labourer, anyway. She had always imagined him as a thickset clod. This young man was taller than the imaginary Harper and his build was slim, though far from puny. His suit was better than she would have expected from one of his station in life. Either Lord Whatsit paid his gardeners too well or else this fellow had costly tastes.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I was hoping to see Juliet.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Her … friend.’

  ‘Her friend?’

  ‘We used to have an understanding.’

  ‘Are you the cad that got her pregnant?’

  ‘No!’ He coloured, but he squared his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, madam, but I’m unsure who you are. I know Juliet has a grandmother.’

  ‘I am Adeline Tewson,’ she replied, neither confirming nor denying the relationship.

  ‘Is Juliet here?’

  ‘Why would you imagine that?’

  ‘She wrote to me from this address.’

  ‘That must have been some time ago.’

  ‘Last month. I answered, though not until last week. I hoped for a reply—’

  ‘Spare me the details. You’re on a fruitless errand. She was here, but she ran away.’ Adeline reached for the bell pull. ‘Marjorie will see you out. Good morning, Mr … Price.’

  This wasn’t the battle Juliet had braced herself for. Arguments she could have coped with, but Adeline apparently intended to bore her into submission. She eyed the box of samples with hearty dislike.

  The door opened, and Marjorie stood there. ‘You’re to come.’

  To her surprise, Mr Winterton was with Adeline, together with another gentleman.

  ‘You should have consulted me before declaring the agreement terminated, Mrs Tewson,’ said Mr Winterton. ‘There you are, Miss Harper. This is Mr Davidson, a magistrate who is impartial in this matter.’

  ‘I see no reason for the girl to be present,’ said Adeline.

  ‘Whereas I see every reason,’ replied Mr Winterton. ‘I understand your concerns regarding Miss Ramsbottom, madam, but I’ve been persuaded to give her the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Mrs Ramsbottom, sir,’ said Juliet.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘She calls herself Mrs.’

  ‘She can call herself the Queen of Sheba,’ Adeline snapped, ‘but she’d still be a slut.’

  ‘Mrs Tewson, please,’ Mr Davidson remonstrated.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Mr Winterton continued, ‘Miss Ramsbottom—’

  ‘Mrs,’ Juliet said, ‘unless, of course, you want things to be as hard as possible for her and the baby.’

  Mr Winterton resumed, his voice ringing with patience. ‘As I said, I’m prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘On what grounds?’ Adeline demanded. ‘Come, sir, I’m entitled to know.’

  ‘You may be entitled to know about Miss Harper, but not about Mrs Ramsbottom, and certainly not about the other person concerned. Be assured, however, that Mr Davidson was present at the discussion.’

  ‘I am satisfied, for the time being,’ Mr Davidson declared.

  ‘One further point, Mrs Tewson, and I think it important to state it in Miss Harper’s presence. Any decisions concerning her may be made only by the pair of us jointly, in the presence of a magistrate and with that magistrate’s agreement.’ Mr Winterton nodded at Juliet. ‘Get your things.’

  He returned her to Mrs Gillespie’s, and not a moment too soon, because Cecily was tearfully packing, unable to meet the rent on her own. Mr Winterton dismissed their thanks.

  ‘Don’t thank me. Thank young Turton.’

  It was a couple of days before William finally appeared. They drew him in with cries of delight, then exchanged puzzled looks when he cleared his throat and fiddled wit
h his cuffs.

  ‘You’ve done us the most marvellous favour,’ Cecily said. ‘Why so glum?’

  William went to the window and stood with his back to them. At last he huffed a breath and turned round.

  ‘I’ve been plucking up the courage to come. When I heard Mrs Tewson had spirited Juliet away, I—well, I told Mr Winterton how Cecily was led on by a plausible fellow, who got her into trouble. I said one reason this man was plausible was because he had my business cards. I told Mr Winterton about being attacked, because I wanted him to believe me about you.’

  ‘Didn’t he know you’d been attacked?’ Juliet asked.

  ‘Yes, because I was laid up for a fortnight, but he didn’t know about the business cards. I didn’t realise myself for some time. And … and he didn’t know the details of what happened. I never told anyone. I was … ashamed.’

  ‘There’s nowt shameful in being attacked,’ said Cecily.

  Yes, there is.

  ‘It happened one dark winter evening after work. I heard footsteps behind me, and then I was being shunted into an alley and having seven bells knocked out of me. I remember being amazed by his strength. I thought, This is what it’s like for a woman being beaten up. He gave me a good hiding, then slapped me about. I … I offered him money to let me alone. I had to spit the blood out of my mouth before I could speak. He laughed, then he took my pocketbook and went through it, then chucked it away. I didn’t know he’d taken my cards. Then he … he got the loose change from my pockets and stuffed it in my mouth.’

  ‘Oh, William.’

  ‘I tried not to swallow it. My eyes were streaming and my nose was running and I could scarcely breathe, but he kept cramming in more and more. I was terrified. Then he walked away. My mouth was so full, I couldn’t get any fingers in to scoop the coins out, and I couldn’t spit them out either. By opening my mouth as wide as I could, I managed to shake some free, but then I retched and there was vomit and money and … a coin went down the wrong way and I couldn’t breathe. I honestly thought I was going to suffocate, covered in blood and snot and vomit, in a stinking alleyway.’

  Cecily said gently, ‘It sounds horrible. You told Mr Winterton all this?’

  ‘I needed him to know what sort of man had led you up the garden path, so he’d realise it wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Juliet. ‘You know what a difference it’s made to us.’

  ‘I wanted you to know as well,’ William added. There was a wretched silence before he burst out, ‘D’you know what the worst part was? Not the bruises or the cracked ribs. It was the humiliation. That’s why I never told anyone. But I decided to tell you now because – because after Mrs Tewson publicly humiliated Cecily, I wanted to come clean. It didn’t seem right, my knowing what that man had done to you when you didn’t know what he’d done to me.’

  Getting up, William turned away and blew his nose, keeping his back to them for a moment – was he mopping his eyes? He turned round with a falsely bright expression.

  ‘Good news. Mr Winterton has written to Lord Drysdale. Your money will be sorted out soon, Juliet, and Hand-finished by Harper will be back in business.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  May 1898

  Juliet woke to hear scuffling. She grinned at a stage whisper from Archie, then caught Cecily’s soft shushing. The door opened and she shut her eyes, hearing Archie’s feet sliding across the floor, then a chinking noise close by her head as something was placed on the bedside cupboard. With an elaborate stretch, she opened her eyes and looked straight into Archie’s solemn blue gaze. Her heart did a little flip.

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ Archie piped. ‘Happy birthday.’

  Cecily prompted, ‘Tea is …’

  ‘Served!’ he cried. ‘Tea is served. Look, I carried it upstairs all by myself, and Mummy says not to worry, because she’ll wipe up the spills.’

  ‘You carried that on your own? Goodness me, how clever. And I bet you never spilt a drop. Mummy’s being a meanie.’

  ‘It’s your birthday tea.’ Archie’s face shone with pride.

  Sitting up, she reached for the cup and saucer, cocked her little finger and said in a posh voice, ‘Modom does so enjoy tea in bed.’ She slurped loudly before smacking her lips and expelling a loud sigh of satisfaction, making Archie clap his hands over his mouth in an ecstasy of shock and delight. ‘But best of all,’ she boomed, putting down her the tea, ‘I like eating little boys for breakfast.’

  One swoop and she was pulling him into bed with her, not difficult since he always wriggled like mad to get under the covers and then popped up looking surprised at having been captured. Cuddling him close, she peppered him with kisses under cover of pretending to devour him. They surfaced to find Cecily observing them with mock exasperation.

  ‘I don’t know which of you is worse. Come on, young man. Leave Auntie Juley to get dressed and we’ll make her birthday breakfast.’

  Archie scrambled out and scampered away. Juliet smiled after him, a smile that reached deep inside. She treasured Cecily’s little boy.

  Archie Ramsbottom. ‘You can’t get much more Lancashire than that,’ Cecily had joked when he was hours old.

  Juliet had thought of Constance Harper having a brother called Archie Ramsbottom and hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry. She had cried a lot – in private – when Archie was small. There was something fierce and angry and despairing inside her, because Cecily had her son with her while her own daughter was goodness knew where. If only she had defied Adeline and never set foot in Mrs Maddox’s house. She tried to be glad Constance had a decent, prosperous family. And she was glad. But it could never wipe out her loss.

  God, it had been hard – it still was hard – watching Archie grow up, sharing his care with Cecily, telling him bedtime stories, teaching him to count.

  ‘I’m so glad that you … well, that you take such an interest in him,’ Cecily had said when Archie was still a babe in arms.

  ‘Of course I’m interested,’ she had answered brightly. ‘I love him. I’m his Auntie Juley.’ Then she stopped pretending. ‘You must tell me if …’

  ‘If what?’

  ‘It’s as if my fingertips are hungry for the feel of him.’

  ‘Oh, Juliet.’

  ‘But really … really they’re hungry for Constance. How could I have given her up?’

  ‘You had no choice, love,’ Cecily whispered.

  ‘Didn’t I? Or did I tell myself that because it was easier? You were never in any doubt about keeping your baby.’

  ‘It was different with me. For the first few months, I thought I was going to marry my baby’s father. When I learnt the truth, it didn’t change my feelings towards my child.’

  ‘I thought it wasn’t possible to keep a baby. It wasn’t until – until I saw her.’ The words rasped in her throat. ‘I loved her. I still do. I have dreams about her. And I look at Archie and …’

  ‘You can’t bear it.’ Cecily swallowed. ‘Do you want us to move out?’

  Juliet caught her friend’s arm. ‘No! Cecily, I adore Archie. You must know that. I couldn’t bear not to be with him – or you. You’re my family. But …’

  ‘But your family isn’t complete.’

  Juliet lifted her chin. She didn’t want Cecily worrying about her. ‘I shouldn’t have said “but”, I should have said “and”. And I am privileged to be part of Archie’s life since I can’t be part of my daughter’s.’

  Cecily squeezed her shoulder. ‘Sweetheart.’

  She was Archie’s godmother, and William was his adored godfather. William was dear to both girls, more like a brother than a friend.

  She washed her face, and wet her toothbrush before rubbing it in the toothpaste. Their purchase of toothbrushes and a tin of Woods’ Cherry Tooth Paste two years ago had been a symbol of the success of Hand-finished by Harper and, goodness, hadn’t they felt they had gone up in the world, using real toothpaste instead of salt. This seemed to be a morning for m
emories.

  Well, that was understandable, given what day it was. Twenty-one today. In spite of Adeline’s gloating prediction in Mr Seton’s office, she had managed to stay out of her grandmother’s clutches, though it had been touch and go at times.

  No sooner had Mother’s money been placed in a savings bank, with Juliet receiving a moderate sum to get by on, than Mrs Gillespie had come bursting into their room in a terrific flap because her landlord had served notice.

  ‘He’s heard about Mr Gillespie doing time. He says I’m tainted by it and if I live here, then his house is too-o-o.’

  The word elongated into quivering syllables as Mrs Gillespie collapsed in floods of tears. Juliet hugged her while Cecily hurried to put the kettle on.

  The following week had passed in a riot of packing and rushing about, as everyone sought new homes before next rent day. Mrs Gillespie wrote to her sister and shed tears of relief when she announced she was going to help her run her boarding house in Southport, so at least that was one person fixed up, which ought to have made Juliet feel less guilty, but it didn’t. Was this happening because of her? Could Adeline be behind the spiteful information that had so incensed the landlord?

  She had decided on a fresh start elsewhere. Yes, Mrs Todd had sung their praises locally, but that remark of Adeline’s about sewing in the backstreets had rankled. She didn’t want to rise to the bait, but a spark of ambition had appeared that couldn’t be denied.

  A letter arrived from Mr Davidson. Unlike the peremptory command from Mr Seton, this was a polite request to see both girls.

  ‘Please bring your friend, Mrs Ramsbottom. He even calls you “Mrs”.’

  ‘It says Mr Winterton and Mrs Tewson will be there.’

  Juliet squeezed Cecily’s hand, knowing she was remembering Adeline’s public condemnation. ‘I don’t think you have a choice.’

  Mr Davidson made a surprising offer. ‘It seems to me that Miss Harper and Mrs Ramsbottom might benefit from moving their business elsewhere.’

  ‘Wait,’ Adeline interrupted. ‘Your role is to be impartial.’